


felled by you, held by you

by lamprophony



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Cunnilingus, Episode: s15e08 Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven, F/M, Femdom, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Kneeling, Masturbation, Praise Kink, gently tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21812836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamprophony/pseuds/lamprophony
Summary: Inspired by 15x08, Our Father Who Aren't In Heaven.Sam was never this cowed by her presence in life. Apparently, killing her made him quite agreeable.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	felled by you, held by you

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t know I shipped Sam/Rowena until I saw her sitting on her throne in Hell, Sam standing there all awkward and unsure. uhhh hell yeah, the femdom practically writes itself. 
> 
> Title from NFWMB by Hozier.

Somehow, she knew she’d see them again. Dean and Castiel are busy not-looking at each other, clearly in the middle of some pissy lover’s spat, even as they make plans to track down Michael and defeat God. It’s always something with those two. Sam’s standing there with his sad eyes, surreptitiously watching her where she sits on her throne. Guilt and shame are etched into every line in his body. It hurts her, a little, to see him like this. Sam was always her favorite, and life hasn’t been kind to him. 

Rowena orders Sam to get her a drink for the sheer pleasure of it. It’s a gift, really, a small sign of her continued regard for him. Sam understands, or maybe he doesn’t. She’ll help him figure it out soon enough.

When they make as if to leave Rowena waves Dean and Castiel with an offhand comment, tells them to _be good, boys, oh and makeup sex does wonders for a relationship you know_ , but she stops Sam. He stays where he is, obediently, standing there awkwardly and looking slightly to the right of her face, not-quite making eye contact. He was never this cowed by her presence in life. Apparently, killing her made him quite agreeable. 

They’re alone, now. Rowena smiles, cat eyes fixed on Sam’s face. “Come here, sweetheart,” she purrs. Sam approaches the throne hesitantly, movements jerky and unsure. He stops at the bottom step leading to the throne, brow creasing, and looks up at her through his bangs. Rowena smiles at him, letting fondness soften the lines of her face. 

Something about the expression relaxes him a bit, hunch of his shoulders shifting to something softer and less anxious, a single look from her enough to get him to settle into his skin. He takes the last few steps and hesitates before sinking down to kneel in front of her. His eyes flicker up to meet her gaze before dropping again to stare fixedly at the base of the throne. 

Rowena cards her fingers through Sam’s hair, pulls him closer. Sam twitches at the contact, not-quite a flinch, like he expects rough treatment even now, even with everything they’ve gone through together. “Oh, sweetheart,” she says, strokes a hand down his face. He looks shattered and vulnerable, mouth thinned into a painful line of grief. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is cracked, trembling. “I’m so sorry.” 

She shushes him, wipes the unshed tears from his eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she says, but she knows that’s not what he wants to hear. Not what he needs. 

Ruling Hell is enjoyable, feels _right_ , but nothing compare to the rush of Sam on his knees before her. She can almost feel blood thrumming through her veins again (never again, not for her). Almost without thinking she leans forward, pulls Sam towards her to kiss the corner of his mouth. “But if you insist on making it up to me…” she arches an eyebrow, pulls up her dress just enough to be suggestive but not so much as to be crude. 

Sam’s pupils are blown wide and dark. He nods his assent and slowly, hesitantly, leans in and presses a soft kiss to her inner thigh. Oh, he’s gorgeous like this, yearning for direction and approval written in the way he keeps his eyes on her face, watching for a reaction. He’d probably do anything for her, right now, but she doesn’t want anything he wouldn’t already give. 

Bolstered by her reaction he continues, kisses his way down her thigh with soft, open-mouthed presses of his lips to her skin until he reaches the spot between her legs, pauses. Sam moans when she twists her fingers in his hair, gentle but possessive, putting his face exactly where she wants it. Rowena hitches her thighs up on Sam’s broad shoulders, moaning at the hot touch of Sam’s mouth, his clever tongue teasing her folds. He feels _alive_ in a way none of the male concubines of hell ever could. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once, and she pulls him closer, grinding her cunt into his face. He comes willingly and she feels the vibration of his moan through her body as he licks her clit. His fingers slide up the line of her calf, tentatively, like he wants to get closer still but he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch. 

“Go ahead, Samuel,” she says, giving him just enough room so he can slide a finger into her. He doesn’t stop eating her out, shifts his finger and hits that spot inside her, _right there_ , and before she knows it she’s coming with a groan, pulling on Sam’s hair tightly now as her thighs tense helplessly, digging her heels into his back. 

Sam’s gasping for breath when she finally lets him go. He’s gorgeous on his knees, lips swollen and red with come and spit smeared across his face. 

Rowena sprawls back in her chair, truly satisfied for the first time since she’s been in Hell. Maybe she could bring some living men down to hell, she muses vaguely. Hell’s concubines were really just not up to par. 

Sam’s dick is straining in his pants, and Rowena runs a foot thoughtfully down his crotch, provoking a shudder. “Well, take it out,” she orders. Sam flushes red but obeys, fumbles at his fly. He looks ridiculous for a second, face red and hair mussed and half-dressed with his impressive cock standing to attention. Rowena knows he feels it, too, eyes darting around the room like he expects company. She wants him exposed but not afraid, so she takes pity, pulls Sam towards her so he’s nestled safely between her open legs. 

“Touch yourself, darling,” she says, running comforting hands down his hair, over his broad shoulders. “You did so good for me, Samuel. So beautiful.” Sam shudders, turns his head and kisses her palm. He obeys, of course he does, jerking himself off with a touch of bashfulness. Rowena soothes it away best she can, murmurs soft words and praise as she rakes her nails gently along the back of the neck. 

She waits until she knows he’s close, body tense and embarrassment nearly forgotten, before she leans in close. “I forgive you,” she whispers, bites his earlobe gently. Sam whimpers and comes, body jerking. 

\--- 

They sit quietly in the throne room for a moment, Sam slumped over with his head pillowed on her thigh. She lets herself enjoy the languid satisfaction of a good fuck, idly running her hands through Sam’s hair. But Sam’s performance has sparked new interest in her, and, well. They might not get this chance again. 

“One more for the road, dear?” Rowena smirks at Sam, nudges his side with her toes. Sam huffs a laugh, small but real, and she feels her own smirk widen into something more pleased and genuine. He stoops down and catches her foot, kisses the delicate arch with something like devotion. 

“If you can handle another round, _your Majesty_.” Sam over-enunciates the title, almost sardonic but without any real bite. Rowena laughs and pulls him closer, feels his answering smile in the shape of his mouth as he kisses his way up her leg.


End file.
